


Choose Your Own Supernatural Adventure Part 4 (CYOSASept16)

by SaenaLife



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Part 4, cyosa, cyosasept16, dead bodies in the living room, honestly not much to tag here, little bit of making out, reader is in shock i guess, that's about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 03:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8873413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaenaLife/pseuds/SaenaLife
Summary: You managed to take down two shapeshifters, but now you need help finding the third one or your friends are going to die.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of the September '16 Choose Your Own Supernatural Adventure writing (CYOSASept16) challenge organized by the amazing @littlegreenplasticsoldier on tumblr. This fic represents the fourth and final chapter in a story where the first three were written by other people. I think you'll be able to follow it, but you can also read the other chapters on Tumblr. (The links below won't automatically open in new tabs.)

[Part One](http://littlegreenplasticsoldier.tumblr.com/post/149771987862/choose-your-own-supernatural-adventure-sept-16) by @littlegreenplasticsoldier

[Part Two](http://ilostmyshoe-79.tumblr.com/post/150373214243/choose-your-own-supernatural-adventure-part-2) by @ilostmyshoe-79

[Part Three](http://rainygalaxynerd.tumblr.com/post/150499707768/choose-your-own-adventure-part-3) by @raingalaxynerd

********

Desperately keeping your eyes off the crumpled forms in your living room, you groped one-handed in your purse. No matter how much you wanted to talk to someone you could trust, there was no way in hell you were letting go of your homemade athame just yet. Who knew if shapeshifters could come back to life? If so, the misshapen little blade was your only defense. Keeping the bodies in your peripheral vision, you scrolled to your dad's number, almost dizzy with relief at not having to deal with this madness alone.

Before you could dial, the door crashed open and you screamed, backing up against the wall and holding the knife out at the most viciously threatening angle you could manage. You recognized the faces of the two men who rushed in, but given the night's experiences, that wasn't reassuring.

“Stay the fuck back!”

“Whoa, hold on there!” The guy who looked like Dean stopped short, bumping forward a little when the guy wearing Sam's face ran into him. “We ain't gonna hurt you!”

“That's what  _he_  said, “ you retorted, tilting your chin at the Dean lying on the floor, bloody and still. Both men glanced down, though neither seemed particularly surprised. The taller one looked at you with wary respect in his eyes. 

“I know this looks bad, but I promise we're the real Sam and Dean.”

“Prove it.” Still holding the knife out, you snatched the silver medal off the table next to you and motioned them forward. “Slowly! And one at a time.”

With a silent glance, they decided Sam would go first. He cautiously inched forward, hand outstretched, palm down. When he was close enough, you flourished your weapon as a reminder before slapping the medal against the back of his hand and holding it there, watching for any signs of pain.

Sam didn't react at all and you grudgingly waved him back before turning your attention to the other man. Green eyes glinting with a touch of impatience, he started toward you, sending your heart into your throat.

“I said slow!” The fear that had been threatening to overwhelm you was clear in your voice.

He stopped in his tracks, smiling apologetically. “Sorry, sweetheart, whatever you need.”

Ignoring the twist of heat in your belly, you didn't answer, waiting silently while he carefully approached and allowed you to press the silver against his skin.

When there was no reaction, Dean grinned down at you. “Feel better?”

Laughing shakily, you lowered your knife. “Yeah, a little. But what the fuck is happening here? They mentioned hunters, is that you?”

Sam turned back from closing and bolting the front door. “Yeah, that's us.”

“Jake said Andrew was leading you on a chase. Is Andrew one of those things, too?”

“He  _was_  one of them, yeah.” Dean's smile was grim. “Fucker went back for your girlfriends, but we got to him first. When Dickweasel knew he wasn't gettin’ out alive, he let it slip that his buddies were coming for you. We got your address from Tori and hightailed it over here.”

“Andrew's dead?” He nodded, watching you closely. “ _Good_. Is that the last of them?”

Dean nodded again. “It's over.”

The adrenaline was starting to ebb and you leaned back against the wall, momentarily too tired to move even the few steps to a chair.

Sam was examining the scene. “Did you take on both these guys by yourself? That's fucking impressive.”

You blushed. “Um, yeah. I think they saw me as easy prey, no threat. Surprised them, I guess.” In the middle of feeling proud of yourself, your eyes fell on the bodies and suddenly your gut was churning.

Dean must have seen it in your face, because he gently put a hand on your elbow, sliding down until he came to where you held the knife, prying your fingers open to take it from you. Glancing down, his eyes widened and he shot Sam a look before turning back to you.

“You went toe-to-toe against a couple of monsters with this little thing and a second place medal?” There was respect and some amusement in his voice, but what you heard was all of the second and none of the first.

Sam took the blade from Dean, inspecting it curiously. “Where did you get this? It looks homemade.”

Your face twisted a little with embarrassment. “It is.” Self-consciously, you reached out to take it and hide it away, but Dean grabbed it before you could.

“You made this? That's awesome!” He peered at it, turning it over in his hands to see it from every angle. “Might not be the prettiest knife around, but you can't argue with results.” He gestured vaguely at the mess behind him.

“Speaking of which,” Sam chimed in, “we need to get rid of these bodies, and the sooner the better.”

A wave of helplessness washed over you at the thought of having to somehow dispose of two corpses. You didn't have the first idea what to do and the thought of getting caught was almost more terrifying than the attack had been. Panic started to build in your stomach, but before it could mature into full-blown hysteria, Sam went on.

“Building this old, it's got a furnace, right?” You nodded, seeing a glimmer of hope. “Perfect!”

His smile was dazzling, distracting, and you found yourself wondering if these brothers had magic of their own. They were too incredibly gorgeous to be believed and anything seemed possible tonight. Some kind of charisma spell, maybe?

“We'll smuggle these two down to the basement and take care of them. It'll be like none of this ever happened. Okay?” Another smile, reassuring but still potent.

“Okay. Thanks, Sam.”

You dug out a couple of your oldest, rattiest blankets and some threadbare towels, then watched as Dean and Sam efficiently wrapped the bodies and mopped up the blood. As they shouldered their grisly burdens, you handed Dean your keys.

“You'll need that big one for the basement door.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. We'll be back soon as it's done.”

Locking the door behind them, you turned and studied your apartment, trying and failing to see it the way it had been this morning before you left - your haven. You wondered if it would ever feel safe again.

Realizing that you were staring fixedly at the faint marks of dried blood the towels had left behind, you shook your head and went to fill the mop bucket, grateful your landlord hadn't sprung for carpet. For a few minutes, you lost yourself in the mundane task, resolutely refusing to think about exactly what kind of mess you were cleaning up. You were standing at the kitchen sink, watching the pink water swirl down the drain and very pointedly not thinking about anything, when the key turned in the lock and Dean walked in.

“Done and done!” He flashed a grin as he sauntered into the kitchen and sat down. “This one's a win; nobody dead but the monsters. And you!” He pointed a finger at you. “ _So_ badass. Taking down two shapeshifters solo is a hell of an accomplishment for any hunter, nevermind a civilian. Wish I'd seen it!”

You turned and reached into the cupboard for your bottle of cheap bourbon, answering over your shoulder. “Call it luck. That and fight-or-flight instinct, only flight wasn't an option.” Grabbing a glass, you waved the bottle at Dean, pouring him a couple of shots when he nodded, pushing down a rush of annoyance that you had wasted the good whiskey on the fake-Dean. “Where's Sam?” Pouring your own deep drink, you sat down, raising the glass for a healthy swallow of the amber liquid.

The whiskey burned, stealing your breath and making your eyes water. You welcomed the sensations, closing your eyes and tracking the warmth as it spread down your throat and through your chest, only half listening to Dean explain that Sam had gone to get the third body from where they'd stashed it.

Without opening your eyes, you took another large gulp. Now the heat was climbing in your cheeks and behind your eyes, making your skull feel feather-light. For a few seconds, you just breathed it in, letting the tension inside you unwind a little more.

Dean had fallen silent and when you opened your eyes, he was looking at you. In that split second before he realized you were looking back, you saw a mix of emotions on his face - a bit of concern, a whole lot of consideration, and more than a little lust.

Letting that look slide for the moment, you grinned at him, raising your glass again. “Now, I've gotta know, how did Jake end up wearing your face?”

His frown was fierce. “Asshole punched me. All they need is one touch and they can copy everything, even your thoughts and shit. Anyway, he clocked me a good one and I must've whacked my head on a tombstone goin' down. Next thing I know, Sam's hollering out on the street. Couldn't have been out more than ten or twenty seconds, but Jake was gone and Sam needed help cornering Andrew, so ...”

“What?” You slammed your empty glass down, harder than you'd intended; it had been a very large glass of whiskey. “You hit your head?! Why didn't you say something?” Standing up, you braced both hands flat on the table while you regained your balance before stepping closer to Dean, worriedly running your hands over his hair. “Are you bleeding? Shouldn't you be worried about a concussion? Maybe we should take you to the hospital.”

Chuckling, he grabbed both your hands in his, pulling them down to hold against his chest as he looked up at you. “I'm fine, sweetheart, I promise.”

Staring into those incredible eyes, you could see that he was waiting for you, wanted you to kiss him, and holy hell, you wanted that, too. Except the last time you had kissed Dean, it hadn't _been_ Dean and the horror of that clung to you.

 _But this is the real Dean_. Unlike the rest of your whiskey-soaked thoughts, that one rang out clear and sober. He was a good man, you felt it in your bones, him and his brother both. And you needed this, needed to take your brain off the hook for a while, to feel alive and safe and _physical_.

Sliding your hands free, you let them travel over his chest, muscular under the flannel, biting back a soft sound when you felt his hands settle on your waist with a firm grip as you leaned down to press your lips to his.

Once, you had gone to one of those giganto-screen, 3D experience things about the Grand Canyon. It was breathtaking, awe-inspiring, and it had prompted you to go see the real thing. There'd been no comparison. What was incredibly stunning in the theater might as well have been made of cardboard compared to standing at the top of a mile-high cliff, trying to comprehend the majesty.

It was the same now. Despite the surface similarities - Jake had obviously picked up on the real Dean's technique - the two men weren't even running the same race. You'd thought fake-Dean was an incredible kisser. Fun as that had been, it was a pale shadow next to this.

You lost track of everything except Dean's mouth on yours, the taste and feel of him. When the front door opened, you found that you'd straddled Dean in his chair without quite remembering having done so. Both of you looked up, flushed and breathing heavy, hands still holding fistfuls of each other's clothes, to see Sam standing there, embarrassed and awkward.

“Um, guess I'll head back to the motel. See you tomorrow, Dean.” He turned to go.

You spoke impulsively. “Sam.” Still straddling Dean, you waited for Sam to meet your eyes. When he did, you smiled, holding out one hand. “Stay?”

*********


End file.
